Shattered Glass
by Imhilien
Summary: Christine believes she is free from the influence of her Angel, but he will not let her go so easily... Sequel to 'The Rose and the Mirror
1. Default Chapter

SHATTERED GLASS

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to the 'Phantom' characters and I'm not making money from it.

Authors note: I had not intended to write a sequel to 'The Rose and the Mirror' but after Myao & Angel 17 kindly requested a sequel, here it is…

As Christine fled down the shabby corridor, her long black hair flying, she raised her white dress up slightly with trembling hands so that she would not trip up in her unladylike haste from her room.

She was half appalled at her daring to break off contact with her Angel, who had been the guiding light in her time at the Paris Opera. Since her fathers death she had prayed devoutly for the Angel of Music to guide her and the first time she had heard the unearthly, beautiful masculine voice coming from her mirror she had thanked her father aloud for sending him at last.

In her naïve faith, she saw now, she had assumed her father had answered her prayer and the Angel of Music really had come to teach her music.

In the beginning all had been well. While the others at the Opera had slept she had stayed wide awake, her stomach tense with anticipation as she stared at her mirror, waiting to hear him greet her with the words "Christine, attend." It had seemed only right and natural for the tuition to be during the day as well at times. The loss of sleep had seemed a trivial price to pay.

Under his stern yet gentle tuition she had felt her voice taking on a life of its own, treasuring the rare times when she was complimented on her progress. One night on his instructions, she had even slipped off quietly to the great Opera stage, dark and silent in the depths of the night and had marvelled to hear his voice crooning softly from every direction – one minute seemingly behind her, the next minute issuing from the distant boxes high in the theatre. Surely only an Angel could do that! she had thought.

When had it gone wrong?

Was it when she had been promoted recently from a lowly chorus girl to a solo singer when her improving voice had caught the attention of management?

Suddenly she had become a Somebody in the eyes of the Opera, and had truly felt like a member of the informal family there for the first time. She had been both embarrassed and pleased when some of the behind-the-scenes workers had formed an impromptu fan club, whistling and cheering when she was allowed time to herself for rehearsal on the stage for solo parts (this had earned her the wrath of the Prima Donna singer La Carlotta who was jealous of her growing fame).

Suddenly it seemed as if Christine could not do anything right in the eyes of her Angel.

She was lazy.

She spent too much time on her appearance.

She talked too long to admirers.

Christine had originally been thrilled at the knowledge her Angel could observe what she was doing during the day. However, the feeling of being viewed by a benevolent, unseen eye had changed to that of being watched by a cold, unfeeling judge. She had found herself becoming uneasy each time he spoke from the mirror, wondering if something she said would set off a cold silence or a black rage, when vicious words would be hissed at her from the mirror.

Things had worsened when Raoul de Chagny had breezed back into her life. Something had had to give and now, forced to choose between Raoul and her Angel she had chosen to leave her Angel.

There were tears in her eyes and she paused on a staircase to angrily scrub her eyes with a handkerchief. She would not cry! She would not stay in her room anymore in the future but shift to a different room. Besides, had she not gained enough training to perfect her voice by herself?

She lifted her face and there was a new glint in her eyes.

Who cared if her Angel was watching her now? She would not be a puppet of her Angel…no, that dark angel. For now she wished to catch up with Raoul and tell him she would be free to see him tonight. She smiled at the thought, her pale, tired face lightening up.

She reached a main corridor and paused in surprise when she heard her name called. She turned towards the sound and smiled when she saw it was her friend Meg, small, cheerful and brown of hair. Meg waved and rushed up towards her but her bright smile faded as she peered at Christine.

"Hello Christine – are you feeling all right? You look like you have seen the Phantom of the Opera!"

Christine managed to laugh.

"I am fine, just a bit tired. Besides, the Phantom is just a fantasy."

Really, thought Christine in amusement, everything that went wrong in the Opera was blamed on this 'Phantom of the Opera', someone who if stories were to be believed, was a murderous masked demon with fiery pits for eyes who haunted the Opera. If you tripped over something, it was because the Phantom had deliberately placed it there. If you forgot your lines well, the Phantom had hexed you.

One time she had mentioned these fables to her Angel, laughing all the while and he had replied after a pause that she had no need to worry about this Phantom while he was around. Instead she had come to fear her teacher (whoever he was really) more than any fictitious ghoul.

Meg stared at her with round brown eyes, her mouth a shocked 'O'. "You should not say such things…Signor Buquet mocked the Phantom – and he was found dead!"

Christine smiled uneasily. "He was found hanging in his quarters – a terrible tragedy to be sure, but not because of this Phantom."

Meg shook her head, her mouth set in a stubborn line. "The Phantom killed him, he punishes anyone who displeases him."

Then Meg smiled and her dark mood faded. "But what I came to tell you was that your Raoul is here watching rehearsals. He has surely come to see you."

Christine found herself blushing. Raoul had obviously not left the Opera after her abrupt goodbye. "Do not be silly – he is not my Raoul," she mumbled.

Meg smirked. "Well then, why are you blushing? You love him – I have seen the way you look at him!"

"You know no such thing" Christine protested, her cheeks growing redder. Really, he was only a friend. A friend you gave up your Angel for, her mind whispered. But she found herself thinking that she had made a good deal…

Christine winced when they both reached the seating area for audiences before the impressive stage. La Carlotta, the Opera's domineering Prima Donna was rehearsing a song on the stage, although 'bellowing' was probably a more accurate term. Carlotta may have been a beauty in her day with her black hair and snapping black eyes, but years of high living had give her a fuller figure than most, as well as pasty looking skin and shadows under her eyes. She demanded the loyalty of those around her, never forgot a grudge or an enemy, and resented those she saw as competitors – including Christine.

Christine did not like all the competitiveness that went on – her Angel had urged her to be satisfied with nothing less than being the premier singer but why could Carlotta not see that she had no wish to take her place – all Christine wished to do was sing to the best of her ability.

Carlotta finished her song and when she impatiently snapped her fingers one of her cronies hovering in the wings rushed to give Carlotta a glass of water. A chair was brought to her on the stage as well and she imperiously sat down, looking like an empress surveying her realm.

Christine hid a smile and seeing Raoul sitting in the second row greeted him shyly when she approached him, a curious Meg tagging along as a chaperone. His face brightened when he saw Christine and he rose from his seat and gave her a little bow.

Indicating both her and Meg to sit down beside him he looked at Christine inquiringly. "Your rehearsal is over for now?"

Christine flushed. "Ah, yes. I apologise for being so abrupt before. I, um, would be happy to accept your kind offer of an outing tonight."

Raoul smiled at her in pleasure. Ah, he was glad to have met her again. The years had improved her beauty and her voice, but he had noticed how strained her face was when she thought no one was looking. It looked like she needed some enjoyment in her life and he would make it his welcome duty to bring it to her.

"There is this lovely restaurant I know," he began then paused in bewilderment when he heard a mocking voice coming from – what? - the rafters above the stage…

To Christine this was a horrifyingly familiar voice, which was taunting Carlotta who was still sitting in her chair on the stage surrounded by her fawning cronies.

"Ah, Madame Carlotta, the very Queen of the Opera. But is she really? Perhaps she is Queen of a realm more suited to her. Perhaps a swamp. After all, what difference is there between a frogs croaking and this Queens voice?"

The cronies of Carlotta wailed "The Phantom!" and fled off the stage in a wild panic in all directions. Carlotta, to her credit, did not follow them but nevertheless she recoiled in her chair and there was terror in her black eyes.

Christine dimly heard Meg whisper in fear, "The Phantom of the Opera who sees all," in answer to Raoul's outraged demand as to who the devil was that talking. She felt frozen with shock and fear. All this time her Angel had been the Phantom of the Opera and she, Christine, had been too naïve and stupid to realise that perhaps there was truth behind the whispered stories by Meg and the others. Besides, who but a fool would think a voice from a mirror meant angelic intervention and not realise it meant that someone was behind the mirror itself?

As the Phantom casually taunted Carlotta on everything from her size to her taste in fashion, Christine, despite her shock, was moved to pity for Carlotta. She did not like her very much but Carlotta did not deserve to be treated this way. As she, Christine, had been treated she thought with a rising anger.

Carlotta had reached the limit of her endurance for she suddenly gave a strangled sob and fled the stage, her chair falling over with a crash. There was triumphant laughter from the rafters, followed by a mocking imitation of a frog. There was a final laugh, then silence.

One of the behind-the-scenes workers, a lean, tall man called Pierre with wild brown hair cautiously walked out onto the stage until he was under the spot where the Phantoms voice had been. There was a hushed silence as everyone present watched him - word had quickly spread and at least half the Opera people were present - as he peered up at the rafters. After a while of looking he shook his head.

"There's no one there," he said in fear and wonder. As if these words had broken a spell, suddenly there was noise again, people speaking in hushed tones of fear and worry, although with some people there was glee in their voices. Stories of the Phantom had circulated throughout Paris, and audiences at shows had increased with curious people eager for a glimpse of him. Stories of this occurrence, witnessed by many reputable people would bring more paying people.

Christine was not surprised the Phantom had not been seen in the rafters. With his unearthly ability to throw his voice anywhere he liked, it was likely he had never been in the rafters in the first place. She stared around, her gaze straying to the boxes high above the seats. She blinked and frowned. For a second she had though she had seen a glimpse of white in one of the boxes…number five she thought it was. It had been a trick of the light surely.


	2. Leave to Come Back

Part 2  
  
A chill ran down Christine's spine. A double fool she had been to think that the Angel had kindness in his heart. I want to leave she thought and realised that she had spoken aloud when Raoul nodded grimly and said "Let us indeed leave. No lady should be persecuted in such a manner. That – that fiend, whoever he is, needs to be hunted down."  
  
He stood decisively and then smiled, bowing to Christine and then a wide- eyed Meg, his blonde hair shining golden in the light of the great chandelier above. "My ladies, will you permit me to escort you both to find some refreshments now?"  
  
"Yes, thank you!" Christine said in relief while Meg babbled her thanks. She did not feel annoyed that Meg was coming along as well – she had had a shock too and deserved an outing as well. Besides, any nosy gossip looking on would assume one of them was a chaperone for the other. Raoul smiled and offered his arms to both of them (no doubt enjoying the thought of escorting two ladies, Christine thought in sudden amusement). Then he paused and asked diffidently if they needed to fetch shawls from their rooms.  
  
"No, I am fine" Meg said shyly. Christine started to say that she needed to fetch a shawl when she stopped. Fetching her shawl meant going back to her room. Where her mirror had been cracked (smashed?) by the Phantom, who might be there awaiting her. "No, I will be fine as well" Christine made herself say, though she was only wearing a delicate, lacy white dress suitable for indoor use.  
  
She bit her lip. He wardrobe was full of similar dresses – provided by the Phantom. Early on in their 'acquaintance' he had imperiously declared that at all times she was to be attired in clothing of his choosing, the dresses appearing the next morning in her wardrobe as if by magic. They were all a perfect fit (which made her feel uneasy now that she thought about it) and her old faded dresses had been removed. Only her dark blue cloak had been deemed suitable for her and had remained.  
  
She had been delighted with the dresses and the stares of envy she had received from other ladies but now she suddenly felt like a dressed up doll. A doll that was expected to have no wishes of its own. She smiled inwardly. At the first opportunity she would ask a dressmaker to make a few dresses for her in a new colour – sky blue, perhaps. She was sure a local Ladies Charity would delight in her white dresses.  
  
Raoul inclined his golden head. "Then shall we depart my ladies?" They both nodded and after taking an arm of his each the three of them made their way out of the Opera, all of them eager to depart.  
  
Christine felt a prickle on her neck and did not dare look back.  
  
Meg wondered nervously if her mother would tell the Phantom he was going to far now.  
  
Raoul wondered about the best way to hunt down the madman.  
  
High in Box 5 Erik, the Phantom of the Opera watched Christine leave with his rival, his eyes narrowed. That foolish boy was heading for an 'accident' if he did not mind his own business. As for Christine, his love – why had she turned from him? He would have made her the greatest singer in Paris history. Why had she given that up for this upstart? The foolish child would be easily swayed by his foppish looks and her beautiful voice would be neglected. This could not be allowed to happen. It would not happen.  
  
Later, Christine leaned back in her chair and sighed in pleasure. This had been the best meal she had had in a while – Raoul had spared no expense and had taken both her and Meg to one of the finest restaurants in Paris and now she felt so full! The waiters had fallen over themselves to make sure they had the best seats and the finest food. Raoul had accepted this treatment casually, for as a Vicomte he was obviously used to this treatment. Ah, to be rich.  
  
Meg told Raoul in a hushed, dreamy tone that she had never been to such a fine restaurant. "Nor I" Christine agreed. Raoul gave a boyish smile and inclined his head gracefully. "It was my pleasure to treat such fine ladies" he said, laughing when Christine and Meg giggled and accused him of flattery.  
  
Then his mood sobered and he looked at them thoughtfully. "I do not feel happy about ladies such as yourselves dwelling in the Opera while that madman is on the loose there." Christine's smile faded while Meg stared down at her hands. Then Meg looked up and gazed at Raoul earnestly. "The Phantom would never hurt ladies, I know it."  
  
Raoul raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Oh? So he would prefer to just torment you like he did to La Carlotta?" While Meg bit her lip in chagrin, Raoul apologising for his unkind words, Christine had the wild urge to tell them both "he tormented me!" but she stayed silent. How would she explain it? "A voice talked to me from my mirror, I believed it was the Angel of Music but it was really the Phantom of the Opera". They would think her a naïve fool. No, it was best to keep quiet. Yet something needed to be done. She stared at Raoul resolutely. "Raoul, he needs to be caught – the Opera managers must contact the authorities." Raoul nodded grimly. "I will see to it that this is done when we return to the Opera." Meg opened her mouth as if to say something then paused, and the moment was lost.  
  
When they returned to the Opera, it was at the conclusion of a show, for people of all classes were streaming out of the main entrance. It seemed that the Phantom had not made an appearance, for amongst the crowd could be heard the occasional mutter that for the amount of money they had paid surely they could have seen of glimpse of this Phantom? The trio looked at each other silently as they managed to make their way into the Opera. A feeling of malevolence seemed to permeate the majestic building, a feeling that the Phantom was merely biding his time before making a move.  
  
"I regret leaving but I must see the managers" Raoul said gravely. "Where is their office to be found?" Christine gave him directions and he nodded his thanks, informing them he would return tomorrow at the earliest convenience to ensure they were safe.  
  
"I will look forward to that" Christine said shyly and blushed when Raoul bent over her hand and kissed it before bidding farewell to them both and striding away. Christine gazed at her hand in amazement. No one had every kissed her hand before. Meg suddenly blurted out "Christine, I must see Maman" and rushed off, leaving Christine alone in the lobby. She took a deep breath. Now that Raoul would be busy talking to the managers, she would not wait for their permission to seek out a new room – she would go ahead and shift now.  
  
If she remembered rightly, there were a couple of empty rooms in the level above her. But oh, she hoped the Phantom would not be waiting for her when she returned to her room. She could not help prevent a shiver of fear running through her. "May God and my father watch over me" she murmured and made the sign of the cross. Feeling slightly better she took a deep breath and headed to her room, feeling as though hidden eyes were watching her the whole way. She made her way along corridors that became shabbier and dimly lit until she reached her room at the end of a corridor.  
  
Cautiously she opened the door, but before it was half opened it suddenly slammed in her face. She gasped, her face white as a sheet. Her hands trembling now she tried the door again. It opened easily this time and she walked in slowly, gulping. She cried out in shock at what she saw but shut the door behind her instead of fleeing. The room was freezing and the cause of this was clear – the mirror that had covered a whole wall was marred by a huge, gaping black hole in its centre and jagged pieces of glass were scattered over the floor.  
  
There was a low moaning sound as a cold damp breeze rushed through the hole in the mirror at intervals, ruffling the sheets on her bed. It was the wind that had caused her door to slam. Christine's heart froze when she saw what appeared to be dried blood – lots of it – on the sides of the jagged hole. It was as if the breaker of the glass had pummelled it in a mad frenzy, who had not cared when his hands had started bleeding. 


	3. Descent

Part 3  
  
Fighting against panic, Christine hurried to her bed and bending down she retrieved a shabby suitcase underneath it. She had to get out! She placed the suitcase on the bed and after opening it started packing it with her meagre possessions (trying to ignore the crunch of glass under her shoes) - her makeup, toiletries and brush set, a little trinket box with her mothers garnet necklace, two candles & flint, a bible, a spare pair of shoes, a nightgown, her hat and undergarments.  
  
Opening her closet she took out her blue cloak and put it on, glaring at the white dresses hanging there. She would fetch those later. A lit candle set into a niche into the wall and protected by glass would stay for the next occupant - if there was one. Now, did she have everything? She gazed around the now bare room, her mouth a grim line when a new breeze wailed into the room. Yes, she did. No...wait! Something was missing.  
  
Christine frowned, then her face went pale, her hand going to her mouth in alarm. The bouquet of flowers Raoul had given her! She had dropped them on the chair - but now they were gone. She had not taken them with her on her earlier flight from this room - the Phantom had come through the hole in the mirror and taken the flowers. Why? She found she did not want to know.  
  
Despite her fear she drew closer to the broken mirror, shards of glass crunching underneath. When she reached it she cautiously peered through the hole. She could just make out a passage that gradually sloped down to....where? It was said there was a lake under the Opera - did it lead down to there? She was filled with a sudden curiosity to know, despite the danger of being captured by the Phantom. Every sense urged her to leave, but she ignored them. [I will only go a short way] she tried to reassure herself.  
  
She went back to her suitcase and retrieving the candle lit it, carefully shielding the flickering flame with her hand. Her mouth dry, she walked to the mirror and stepped cautiously through the dark hole, though at one point her cloak caught on a jagged, bloodstained edge. Once in the passage she paused to listen. Apart from the breeze she could hear nothing. Faintly reassured she walked along the passage, stepping softly on the stone floor which turned into downward leading steps as the passage veered to the left.  
  
She took a shaky breath and continued. Luckily the steps were not too steep as they spiralled down into the bowels of the Opera. After a few minutes the passage stopped and Christine found to her surprise that she had reached the shore of the lake - a vast one for it stretched out in front of her, looking like black glass, though every so often a tiny wave would lap the shore where she stood. The air was slightly stale.  
  
In the far distance Christine could see a stone wall with three tunnel holes that someone with a small boat could travel through. The wall itself was covered with dozens of sconces holding lit torches that burned with an odd, colourless light. Christine shivered, for it felt dark and oppressive down here, despite the light in this cavern. She glanced upwards but could only just make out a ceiling.  
  
So. It seemed that the Phantom's lair was reached through one of those tunnels in the distance, obviously by a boat...she peered about her and saw to the right a small jetty with a hitching post to tie a boat to. Staring at the lake she wondered how cold and deep it was.  
  
She was a good swimmer - a rare talent among women she had found, though in her case she had been drawn to the lake by her childhood home when she was a child. Her father had taught her to swim and she had delighted in the water, loving the feeling of diving into the lake, swimming down into its cool embrace with her dark hair streaming about her. Her pleasant reverie was shattered when she heard in the distance a man singing, his beautiful voice filled with both plaintive longing and rage. It was the Phantom...  
  
She gasped and peered at the tunnels in panic. There! In the left hand tunnel there was a dim, bobbing light drawing closer, getting brighter. Christine turned and fled back into the passage, running in her haste to get away...upwards, quickly now...had she been seen? [No, no..] her mind gibbered in relief. He had been too far away to see her, surely. Her candle sputtered out and darkness surrounded her, but she did not care. Darkness would not betray her like a candle light would. Upwards, quick!  
  
The passage levelled out and she saw the welcome sight of her room through the jagged hole of the mirror and she clambered gratefully through it into her room. She rushed to her bed, closed the suitcase, grabbed it and headed to the door. Oops..her hands were full with both suitcase and candle. She managed to transfer the cooled candle to her suitcase carrying hand, opened the door with her now free hand, walked out and managed to shut the door quietly behind her despite her state of nervous panic.  
  
She hurried along the corridors, meeting no one and when she reached a staircase she headed up a flight - then another - and another. She felt she needed at least three flights between her and her old room. It was silly, but she also wanted to be closer to the stars. Hopefully she would find a spare room. Luck was with her - the second room along the corridor (which showed evidence of regular upkeep) was vacant, the nameplate on the door empty.  
  
Sighing in relief she opened the door into a room that was more spacious than her old one with a neatly made up bed, a dresser and a writing desk with chair. There was a big closet door as well. There was even a tiny window above the bed that let in light from street lamps outside. Best of all, the only mirror was a little oval one over the dresser. For now she was safe.  
  
Suddenly overcome with exhaustion she put down her suitcase, put the candle on the dresser and took off her shoes and cloak. After lighting the candle and completing her toiletries she changed into her nightgown, blew out the candle and got into bed, smiling in gleeful triumph to herself.  
  
"You will not find me tonight thou Dark Angel" she whispered. As soon as her head hit the pillow she fell asleep and dreamed that she was invisible, her laughter echoing throughout the Opera as a dark presence prowled restlessly throughout it.  
  
In her vacated room he stood silent, thinking. She had left this room but this was to be expected. It was one more thing that he would have to forgive her for but he would do this. She would not have gone far. 


	4. Carlotta Part II

Part 4  
  
The next morning Christine awoke to the unfamiliar sight of bright sunshine that streamed through the window above her bed. It seemed like a good omen, that light had come to chase away the dark. She smiled sleepily and stretched out her hand in a playful attempt to catch a sunbeam, wiggling happily in her bed. She felt better now she was away from her old room - there was no need to fear a mirror here.  
  
After a while she reluctantly got up and after dressing and completing her toiletries she went down to the ladies dining room. There were a few other ladies there, who included Christine in their talk of who the Phantom was really....and would he appear at Carlotta's next rehearsal?. Christine suspected he would. His dislike of the singer had now become an irrational hatred, and Christine could only feel sympathy for her now.  
  
After breakfast she went to the managers office. She tapped cautiously on the door and heard M. Firmin call out "Come in, come in! Unless you are the Phantom, heh..."  
  
She opened the door and walked in. M. Firmin, a thin, tired looking man with neat brown hair blinked at her nervously from behind his desk. The office was small and shabby, a smell of cigars hanging in the air which made her cough.  
  
"Christine! My dear child, I was about to go and see you! Sit down, do."  
  
She blinked in surprise and obeyed, sitting down cautiously in a flimsy looking chair that looked like it was only held together with pins.  
  
"You were?" she said cautiously. Attracting the attention of management was not always a good thing.  
  
"Yes, yes!" M. Firmin smiled. "In light of your amazing progress as a singer - just who is your teacher? - M. Andre and I have decided to give you a new room rather than that pokey closet you live in."  
  
Christine blinked again in amazement. What fine timing! But now she would have to confess to a few things...  
  
"M. Firmin..I left my room yesterday because I found the wall-mirror smashed....by the Phantom I believe." She felt it prudent not to mention the bloodstains on the mirror.  
  
He stared at her in amazement. "Smashed you say? Most odd, most odd indeed. But what makes you think it was our ah, resident ghoul? One cannot blame him for everything and ah, the walls sometimes have ears." He sighed and his face was unhappy and trapped looking.  
  
Christine stared around uneasily. So, even in here she could be watched...no matter. She went on. "Behind the mirror-" she broke off when Francis, M. Firmin's highly strung aide burst into the room, his face white.  
  
"Come quick! It's La Carlotta - the Phantom is...is...it's like yesterday!!"  
  
M. Firmin and Christine, their faces pale, leapt from their seats and followed Francis to where the stage was. Others had heard the news for the corridors were full of people grimly rushing to this, the latest act in the drama.  
  
Urged on by some instinct, Christine made her way to a wing of the stage and paused in horror when she saw what was happening. Carlotta was standing on the stage trying to rehearse a song but the only sounds that came from her mouth were horrible croaking noises. Tears were streaming down Carlotta's face, making her heavy black eye makeup run. Echoing from the rafters (empty of course Christine noted when she peered upwards) was the Phantom's mocking laughter.  
  
"Ah, the Swamp Queen graces us with her music! Sing, O Queen! Sing to bring down the chandelier!"  
  
There was a collective gasp from everyone as they stared up at the huge, glittering chandelier, which had started to sway with ominous gentleness over the orchestra pit, its lights flickering.  
  
Christine found she had had enough. Full of fury she strode out onto the stage, Carlotta turning to look at her with surprise overcoming terror in her eyes as Christine summoned every memory of her voice training and screamed "Leave her alone you wretched bully!"  
  
There was a deathly silence and even the chandelier seemed to pause. But no, it was swaying wildly now and Christine flinched as the Phantom's voice suddenly seemed to hiss from behind her "you will regret those words my love!"  
  
There was a harsh metallic ripping sound and suddenly the chandelier plunged to the ground in a blaze of light and crystal, bringing darkness and chaos. People screamed and cried out in the dark and as Christine turned around, too disoriented for a moment to run, she in turn screamed when suddenly a strong hand clapped a cloth over her mouth that was soaked with a strange chemical that made her eyes stream. She struggled to break free but she was falling...she knew no more.  
  
Authors Note: Don't worry, I won't be leaving it there! The next part is on its way. As you may have noticed, the Phantom in this story is not someone you would want to croon Lloyd-Webber tunes with - I had decided to give a different twist to the Phantom story. Thanks to those who have given reviews! 


	5. Where is Christine?

Part 5  
  
At first no one noticed that Christine was missing. Or rather, it was perceived that she was gone, but then, after the chandelier had crashed to the ground many of the chorus girls had run off shrieking (if they hadn't already fainted), so it was assumed that she had done the same.  
  
After lamps were brought in and some semblance of light returned, many of the Opera folk stared silently at the wreck of the chandelier that lay in a magnificent ruin on the floor. Fortunately no one had been killed when it fell, but until it had extensive (and expensive) restoration, it would never be hung up again. The Opera managers stood gazing at it, M. Firmin methodically tearing at his hair and muttering to himself "Why didn't I become a baker like my father? Even a job as a prison guard would have been quieter. `Work at the Opera, lot's of excitement', heh."  
  
"Nonsense!" M. Andre boomed beside him, clapping M. Firmin on the back and nearly knocking him off his feet. M. Andre was a tall, jovial man who looked for the profit in anything, even this, the latest destruction by the Phantom. "The crowds will rush in when they hear this story! Hmm...maybe we can sell pieces of the chandelier off at an auction - I don't think the old girl can be fixed, just look at it."  
  
M. Firmin looked at him instead, aghast. "Sell pieces of the chandelier! You must be mad!" which started off an argument between them.  
  
Standing in the wings, catching her breath, Carlotta was feeling an emotion she had rarely let herself feel - that of shame. In the time that Christine had been here Carlotta had taken every opportunity to belittle the young, beautiful singer for Carlotta had seen her as someone who would rise to replace her. She knew she was getting on in years, and her own impressive voice was starting to lose its grandeur.  
  
She enjoyed at times the fawning of her cronies as they complimented her voice, her beauty, but where had they been when that damned Phantom had started terrorising her before - calling her a frog again, of all things! The cowardly traitors had run away shrieking again, that's what they had done. Instead it had been Christine who had come to her defence.  
  
Was it too late to make amends, to bury the hatchet? To say she was sorry?  
  
She stared around her, trying to see where Christine was. "Where is Christine?" she demanded.  
  
As the day went on that question became repeated by others.  
  
"Where is Christine?" wondered a grim faced Raoul, who when he had arrived had been shocked to hear the latest news. Raoul and M. Firmin had failed to find her in her new room (found only after extensive searching) and there was no trace of her in her old room.  
  
"I could have sworn she mentioned a broken mirror was in her old room" M. Firmin said there in puzzlement, staring about him.  
  
Raoul's face was even grimmer as he stared about the tiny, empty room, the clean floor bereft of a rug. He remembered there had been a mirror here - a huge one, for he had had glimpses of it when he had stood at the doorway (he would have never presumed to come into her room, for though society regarded singers as having no morals, he had always treated Christine like a lady).  
  
The mirror was gone and had been replaced by an ordinary looking wall made of weathered planks, looking as if it had always been there. But it hadn't...Raoul cursed himself silently. He knew it had been madness to leave her here last night!  
  
"That madman has kidnapped her" he growled to M. Firmin.  
  
The manager looked uncomfortable. "Look, you do not know that for certain. She has probably rushed off after the, the ah, incident and is ah, shopping! Yes, all women love to shop. Just ask my wife, heh.."  
  
"It's Sunday" Raoul said quietly, staring at the manager with narrowed eyes.  
  
"Well, maybe she has gone for a walk" M. Firmin blustered, and then he sighed and looked away. "If you are right, and I hope you are not, then she is as good as dead, like the other one" he said quietly.  
  
Raoul went white. "Other one?" he demanded. "What in God's name are you talking about, man?"  
  
M. Firmin sat down heavily on the bed, his eyes faraway. "The Phantom has always been part of this place, it seems. Most of the time he kept to himself, somewhere in this place - don't ask me where, because no one has ever found it. At times he leaves notes demanding money, causing...accidents if he does not receive it. In return he sometimes leave things in box 5 - a case of champagne, once. Another time it would be cigars. The previous managers found this deal very profitable, naturally. It has only recently that he has been ah, more vocal."  
  
"This whole place is crazy!" Raoul breathed, staring down at him. "But this `other one' you mention - tell me about her - it is a her, is it not?"  
  
M. Firmin sighed again, looking tired. "According to the previous manager - this is not my account you understand but from a diary he left in a drawer - there was a chorus girl a few years ago, Jeanette was her name. A pretty gel apparently, masses of blonde hair. Wore pretty, frilly white dresses too. Well, she could sing like an angel, every time people heard her they swore her voice was even more beautiful. No one ever knew who her teacher was, either. She never said. Well, one day she went missing, no one could find her."  
  
"Missing?" Raoul queried.  
  
"Yes, missing. She was found later down in one of the basements, dead at the bottom of a staircase. It was believed that she had gone exploring, fell down the stairs and broke her neck. But..(and his voice dropped to a whisper, Raoul straining to hear him) the manager, Gaston had seen thumb prints on her neck. He was disbelieved - they were bruises from the fall, he was told. No need to look for trouble. The last entry in the diary was `he knows that I know' before he left the Opera for good. Had a mysterious death, too, I heard."  
  
Raoul felt cold sweat bead on his forehead. "I had asked her who taught her to sing - but she had not told me either. I have never heard anyone sing the way she has. But if this murderer has her - I will find her, even if I have to rip this accursed place apart to find her!"  
  
M. Firmin observed the aristocrat sadly. "I wish you luck, for this place is a maze, full of corridors that lead nowhere and secret rooms that become death traps for those who wander inside - Carlotta shrieked the place down last year when she accidentally found a secret room, accessible by pressing a panel above her fireplace, and there were two skeletons inside."  
  
"Did she move?" Raoul asked in grim humour.  
  
M. Firmin grimaced. "No - she turned the secret room into a walk-in wardrobe. Women, I can never understand them. But if you want to find Christine, I suggest you start as soon as you can - in the basements, would be my first choice." He opened his mouth to say more but Raoul had already run from the room.  
  
Christine drifted in darkness. Surely she was dreaming for in the dark she could hear an organ playing a lullaby, and a beautiful male voice accompanying the music. There was something about the voice that she felt she should know - she nearly had it but then she lost it. No matter. For now, she was content to dream, and listen. 


	6. The House on the Lake

Part 6  
  
After a while Christine slowly drifted out of her drug-induced sleep, despite the soothing music that seemed to say sleep…..have no fear…..sleep…  
  
She blinked, her eyes feeling heavy and there was a funny taste in her mouth. [Where was she?] she thought groggily. Then her last memory blazed in her mind – the hissed words, the pungent cloth held to her mouth and nose. The fog cleared from her mind at the remembrance, her eyes opening wide in terror. [where..]  
  
She was sitting in a large, comfortable black leather chair with a red blanket tucked tightly around her. Nearby there was a stone fireplace where a fire burned merrily. The air was pleasantly warm and there was an exotic spicy smell to it. The walls of the opulent room she was in were panelled with bright Oriental red silk, the floor covered with luxurious Persian carpets with odd pink spots on them.  
  
Against the far wall - a huge pipe organ stood there and seated at it was a man in a black opera cloak. From her vantage point she could see that he wore a gleaming white mask. A chill ran through her. The Phantom of the Opera had indeed kidnapped her, and she did not want to know why he wore a mask. 'A face from hell' was what one of the stories had said about him – was there truth to that story?  
  
Something about the carpets seemed wrong. She peered at them. Yes, it was the pink spots on them that seemed out of place. Wait, they weren't pink spots, they were….dried rose petals. From pink roses. Cold sweat pooled at the nape of her neck. Surely they weren't from the missing bouquet of pink roses that Raoul had given her, on the day that everything had changed?  
  
Yet, after returning to her old room yesterday the bouquet had vanished from where she had left it. Raoul would not have taken it back of course – but one who saw the flowers as something from a hated rival would have taken them, to rip them apart and scatter them where they could be crushed under shoes.  
  
[Raoul!] she screamed silently. [Please come and help me!]  
  
But he could not. How could he, when she did not even know where she was. The only person who could get her out of here was…her. She took a deep breath.  
  
"Where am I?" she inquired in a steady voice that only shook a little. The Phantom paused playing.  
  
"Ah, you have woken."  
  
He stood up and in a graceful motion walked over to where she was sitting. He was dressed in elegant evening clothes under his cloak and was a tall, broad shouldered man without an ounce of fat on him. His thick sleek hair was black and his eyes, gleaming through eyeholes in the white mask that covered the upper half of his face were a dazzling blue. Even with the mask, he could be taken for a member of Parisian high society. He gave her an elegant bow tinged with mockery.  
  
"You are here in my house on the Opera lake, built where no prying eyes can see."  
  
"The lake?" she repeated dully. Of course. Why did that not surprise her? The others would be frantic with worry – but how many people would think to look on the lake for her?  
  
"Let me go, please!" she whispered.  
  
The Phantom looked down at her in surprise. "Go? Go where? Back to the cruel upper world where you are not treated like the angel you are?"  
  
"I am no angel and nor are you!" Christine retorted.  
  
His eyes narrowed. "I see you are continuing to be….difficult. Very well. I have business elsewhere for now. I hope that your attitude has improved when I return. There is tea and biscuits over there." A gloved hand casually indicated a small table nearby with an elegant white china teapot with cups and a plate of biscuits beside it.  
  
Her stomach rumbled in unladylike anticipation and he laughed, his dark mood vanishing in an instant. "I see the biscuits will not be wasted! Your room is through that door" indicating a white door on the left wall. There was a red door to either side of his organ, and it was to the left of these that he walked over to. "Farewell my dear – for now" he said cheerfully as he opened the door, walked through it and locked the door behind him.  
  
Shaking off with difficultly the blanket that held her fast to the leather chair like a prison, she staggered to her feet and ran over to the door he had departed through. Even though she knew it was a futile gesture, she tried the door handle, tears filling her eyes when it failed to open. She tried the other red door but that too, was locked. In frustration she gave the door a kick, but only succeeded in hurting her foot.  
  
Was she destined to stay here always, a prisoner in a gilded cage? There had to be another way out. Ignoring her hunger, she cautiously tried the handle of the white door. It opened easily and she gasped in amazement when she stared inside the room.  
  
It was a bedroom fit for a noblewoman, decorated completely in white. The walls were draped in white silk and the floor was covered with soft white rugs. There was a four poster bed draped with lacy curtains and a thick white bedspread. There was a dresser and an elegant writing desk painted white, while a lit china lantern hung from the ceiling.  
  
She was this close to hating the colour white for the rest of her life.  
  
The effect was supposed to be pleasant, but all Christine felt in this room was a sense of sterility. She eyed the huge wardrobe (white of course) warily. Walking slowly over to it, her footsteps never making a sound, she threw open the wardrobe doors and winced. It was full of the same kind of white dresses as she had in the world above, like the same white dress she was wearing now.  
  
There was a door just by the wardrobe which she found led to a bathroom (decorated in white) with a decadent white marble bathtub with veins of red running through it and a white table with a china washstand on it. A china lantern was in here as well. There was a porthole window and she rushed eagerly to it. Once she opened it surely she would be able to squeeze through it, it appeared to be big enough…but her heart sank when she got to it.  
  
Through the window she could see the lake stretching out apparently into infinity - who knew how far under the Opera it extended. The message was clear – she might be able to squeeze out of the window, jump into the lake and swim, but without a clear direction she would falter and eventually drown.  
  
Dispirited she left the bathroom, walked through the bedroom and back into the main room which she perversely decided to call 'La Dungeon' in her mind, for the red colouring of the silk walls reminded her of blood. Her stomach growled plaintively, reminding her again that she had not eaten for a while. She sighed and poured herself a cup of tea and after taking a biscuit sat down cautiously in the leather chair. The scent of the tea was not one she could identify, but it had an exquisite taste and she drank it down quickly. The biscuit though was a bit stale and she tossed in into the fire where it quickly flamed and turned into glowing ash.  
  
After a few minutes she yawned. She must be still tired from whatever the Phantom had drugged her with in the cloth. She put down her cup on a little side table beside the chair and leaned back, sighing. Within seconds she was asleep…she awoke later to find the Phantom had returned and was staring down at her with an odd smile on his wide mouth.  
  
"It has been too long since we have had a music lesson, my dear" and he held out a hand to her. She thought about this, though it seemed her mind was a bit dreamy, and realised his statement made perfect sense.  
  
"Yes." She nodded. There was no point in escaping, for how could she? She reached out for his hand and took it.  
  
  
  
Will Christine be rescued? Or will she find a way out? Or is there no escape at all? Stay tuned to this screen for more! 


	7. Escape!

Part 7  
  
A/N: It's been a while since an update – sorry! I've been on holiday. If you have got this far then you know it is not a traditional POTO story, so if you don't like dark, Raoul-friendly stories turn back now. Flames will be used to cook my dinner! Still reading? OK, on with the story.  
  
  
  
Christine's days soon fell into a routine of singing lessons or listening to Erik (for he had told her his name) sing or play the organ. She never got tired of hearing him sing and enjoyed drinking his tea, which she was offered frequently.  
  
One day on a late afternoon when Erik was out on 'business' she retreated to her room and sat at the dresser, listlessly brushing her long black hair and gazing vaguely at the mirror. As she looked at her reflection a thought rose in her mind that she looked like a doll.  
  
She frowned slightly and paused in her brushing. Thinking seemed to take an effort these days and her old life seemed like something that had happened to someone else. A doll….that was pleasing, was it not? A doll was pretty. Cared for. Treasured. Lifeless…..she blinked and started to put down the brush but it slipped from her hand and fell on the dresser, the sharp sound shocking in the dim silence.  
  
She jerked at the sound and stared at herself in the mirror in confusion. Her thoughts were sluggish but her mind clung to them now like lifelines. She looked like a doll – her skin was milky pale (though not sickly as she ate solid meals) and her eyes were lifeless, though now filled with a growing horror.  
  
How had she fallen so quickly under Erik's spell again? He was not mistreating her, nor had he taken…advantage of her, but she was his obedient prisoner as he had probably planned all along. She had even stopped thinking about Raoul. Poor Raoul and the others up above. They would be frantic by now – how much time had passed? She had lost count. Perhaps they had given up looking for her.  
  
Her thoughts wandered and she felt herself craving for yet another cup of that lovely sweet tea. She had half risen from her seat when she paused. The tea….it had to the tea that was making her so compliant. The tea was drugged!  
  
A rush of anger cleared some of the fog from her head and she stood up and staggered into the bathroom where she splashed some cold water onto her face. She stared at the porthole window. It was insane to think this way but she could just squeeze through it. She was in no condition to swim – but better to try and drown a free woman than stay as a pampered prisoner.  
  
She would escape tonight.  
  
Excitement and fear made her eyes gleam and then she heard a door slam in the distance, her name called. Erik had returned. [He must not suspect that I am myself (or nearly myself) again] she thought in alarm.  
  
She let her shoulders droop slightly and a vague look appeared in her eyes. She walked slowly to the main room ('La Dungeon' she thought resolutely to herself) and whispered a greeting to Erik, then she looked down at the floor in docile politeness.  
  
Erik looked tall and magnificent as always, a part of her mind noted, and he was carrying a big brown paper parcel.  
  
"Look up at me, child" he instructed gently and she did so, seeing a smile on his face.  
  
"My dear, I have been shopping for you" and he held out the parcel expectantly to her.  
  
"How nice" she said vaguely and took the parcel from his hands. Sitting down on a cushion on the floor (Erik preferred the black leather chair for his use only) Christine slowly opened it. She managed not to scream.  
  
It was a wedding dress, lacy, intricate and expensive looking. There was no need to ask whether it would fit her.  
  
"It is lovely" she said dully. She was unresisting when he drew her to her feet with his powerful hands and after searching his pocket brought out a diamond engagement ring that glittered with cold fire.  
  
"You will be a lovely bride" he murmured in pleasure as he slipped the ring on her left hand and bent to kiss her forehead. His lips were icy.  
  
"Yes" she murmured. He nodded in satisfaction.  
  
"After dinner go and get some sleep – tomorrow will be a busy day."  
  
She nodded obediently. Erik left to prepare dinner in the kitchen – which was reached through the door to the right of the organ – that he never let her enter. Presumably his bedroom was reached through that door also for that was where he went at night.  
  
She found herself wondering whether her food was drugged and when they were seated down on cushions in the corner and eating from little bowls with ivory forks (Erik preferred to dine that way) she ate only small portions for a change. However, Erik looked at her suspiciously and she forced herself to eat more, grimly reciting song lyrics in her mind to keep herself alert when she found her mind starting to drift. Fortunately he did not ask her to drink tea.  
  
Afterwards when Erik left her to go to his own quarters she went back to her bedroom, praying that she would never see him again. Once her toiletries were completed and she was in a silk nightgown, she lay down on her bed but did not go to sleep, her eyes filled with fury.  
  
So, Erik wished to have a doll-like bride, did he? Not her! Never her…  
  
Though it seemed like ages she waited a few hours until she was sure Erik was asleep, the house silent. Then she sat up and lit a candle on her bedside table. Quietly getting up off her bed she took the chair from her writing desk and carefully wedged it under the handle of her bedroom door, for there was no lock.  
  
She put on her silk dressing gown and belted it tightly. It would not drag her down in the lake and she would be able to swim in these light garments. Next – her hair. She sat down on her bed and swiftly braided her long black hair into a long rope and wound it around her head, pinning it tightly in place with ivory hairpins.  
  
She took a few more hairpins and stuck them into her braided hair – they could be useful as weapons just in case.  
  
Now to escape.  
  
Taking the candle in its elegant china holder she went into the bathroom and placed it on the table there. The candle was nearly used up and would surely go out before the hour was up. She quietly opened the porthole window. She was going to get out at last! But the only way she could get out was head first – and she would make a big splash if she was not careful. It had been ages since she had dived…she grasped the rim of the window and squeezed her head, shoulders and then her arms (just) through, her bare feet dangling over the bathroom floor.  
  
Her waist now on the windows rim she stared down at the dark lake. All was dim and quiet about her – she could just make out the surface of the lake below and wondered how deep it was. The house, according to Erik, was built on a huge, wide pillar that went down to the lake bottom.  
  
She drew in a huge breath, prayed to God and all the saints, extended her arms out in front of her and pushing herself forward half fell, half dived out of the window and managed to slice cleanly through the surface of the water. She only made a small splash that nevertheless sounded to her ears as loud as thunder.  
  
The water was so cold!  
  
She sank down, down then she flailed her arms and struck out, her swimming skills coming back to her. She broke through to the surface of the lake and gasped for air, treading water, the cold water clearing her mind of any residual fuzziness. Her head dripping water, she looked up at the open window anxiously; water running down her cheeks like false tears. She blinked her eyes so she could see clearly. Had Erik heard the splash?  
  
The house was silent and she did not hear her name called angrily. It seemed she was safe – for now. The best direction to swim in for now was away from the house, and breaststroke would be the best way as it did not make much noise.  
  
Ignoring the coldness of the water she set off as quietly as she could, soon settling into a rhythm, her silken garments trailing gently around her but not impeding her progress. Away. She had to get away. She wished there was light to show her where she was going, but light was dangerous – it would make her stand out if Erik found she had escaped before morning.  
  
After a while, feeling weary from the unaccustomed exercise, she risked a glance behind her. She could just make out the dim outlines of the house far behind her now. Heaven willing, she would never see it again. 


	8. Water Water Everywhere

Part 8  
  
Christine treaded water for a while, catching her breath while her dressing gown and nightgown floating about her like silken petals. A kind of mad excitement lent her strength and she grinned in the darkness.  
  
Suddenly the quiet was ripped by the distant sound of her name screamed out in shock and rage. In terror she turned her head and saw in the distance flickering lights through the window she had jumped out.  
  
[Oh no!!] Christine thought in panic. If only he had slept through to the morning, giving her enough time to get away. She would not go back! She thought in fresh terror that he would surely get in his boat and come after her…  
  
She took a deep breath and abandoning breaststroke put her head down and started swimming in earnest. A little while later Christine paused for breath, gasping. If only she knew the direction that would lead her to safety. She looked back fearfully and moaned in terror when she saw that a small boat had set out from behind the house. It had a lamp fastened to the front of it, which clearly showed Erik standing in it, poling the boat in furious, jerky movements while a black cape billowed around him giving him the appearance of an angel from hell.  
  
[Do not come this way!] Christine begged silently as she sank down in the water until only her frightened green eyes were above the water. She nearly sobbed in relief when the boat veered away from her off to the right, Erik calling her name sweetly as if she was a lost child.  
  
She lifted her head to take a deep breath and turned back to the direction in which she had been swimming. It seemed the best course of action to swim this way for now, and she dropped her head under water. She was good at swimming under water, and this way she would be less visible.  
  
Feeling that she was now swimming for her life, she struck out swiftly under the water, pausing at intervals to lift her head, take a breath and check where she was going. Thanks to the light of Erik's lamp (still thankfully distant from her), she could see a vague suggestion of a wall in the distance, which gave her hope for she was starting to tire. Hopefully there would be a tunnel hole that would lead her back somehow to the Opera…  
  
She took a deep breath and ducking under water again resumed swimming. After a while she stopped and was startled to see that she was just metres away from a stone wall which rose smoothly out of the water. It had been closer than she thought! She glanced back and flinched in terror for Erik had changed direction and was heading this way. Luckily he had not spotted her yet for he was still calling her name in sweet tones, asking her to show herself for she was surely chilled to the bone.  
  
Turning her attention to the stone wall she saw that there was indeed a tunnel entrance just a couple of metres along, and though she was taking a risk in being seen, she paddled quietly towards it for she felt too out of breath to swim under water for now. Peering down the tunnel that stretched away into darkness she wondered where it led. Would it end near the shore near her old room? Or in another direction entirely? She had no way to be sure. She thought frantically. Surely there was a…service ladder of some kind in the tunnel? Anything that would take her upwards would be welcome. She strained her eyes and stared up at the tunnel walls. There!  
  
On the right hand wall she could make out a thin metal ladder that glinted in the increasing light. Erik was drawing nearer….if she could get to the ladder in time she would be out of danger. Despite feeling dizzy, she took several deep breaths and ducked under the water again, swimming deep down to a point where she hoped she would not be easily spotted and struck out in the direction of the ladder, terror giving her a burst of energy though her strength was fading fast.  
  
She inwardly cursed when she bumped into the other side of the tunnel, though she managed to keep her mouth shut. Cautiously she rose to the surface – and was spotted by Erik as he entered the tunnel in his boat, his keen ears having heard small splashes from this direction.  
  
"There you are Christine!" he called out lightly as though her escape had been of no great consequence, but she heard the cold fury under his words. She glanced at the wall – the ladder was nearby and just within her reach. As it went down to the waters surface it was easy for her to grasp the rusty metal. Though she was shivering from cold and fear, she grimly ignored Erik and hoisting herself up onto the ladder, water streaming down her body, she started climbing.  
  
Erik was slowly poling towards her in his boat, confident of her recapture. Her body ached in weariness and it was a vast effort for her to climb the ladder which periodically rattled when she grasped new rungs.  
  
"You gave me quite a scare!" Erik continued in a gentle tone. "We were doing so well."  
  
Another rung. Keep climbing. Another rung. Another.  
  
She concentrated solely on climbing, her heart in her throat for she saw he had stopped the boat by the ladder, though he would now have to climb the ladder to reach her. Something jabbed her sharply in the back and she cried out in pain. Staring down she was horrified to see that Erik had taken his boat pole and had used it to poke her – how dare he!  
  
"Come down or I will bring you down – by any means necessary!"  
  
"Never!" she screamed down at him, crying out when the pole jabbed her again, sharper this time. Breathing raggedly, she did her best to climb faster and out of his reach. Peering up she was elated to see the roof of the tunnel and a round hatch at the ladders top.  
  
She heard Erik curse – was she out of the reach of his pole? There was a clattering sound and after a moment the ladder shook slightly. Pausing to look down Christine cried out, for after dropping the pole in the boat, Erik had fastened his boat to the ladder with a rope and was now climbing the ladder. He was as lithe as a cat and his billowing cape gave him the appearance of a bat. She started climbing again but she was not fast enough for within seconds Christine felt a strong hand grasp her foot, holding it tightly to a rung and he laughed in triumph.  
  
"Nooo!!" she yelled and kicked out wildly with her other foot. She felt it make contact, heard a faint splash and heard Erik's cry of rage. She peered down and let out a shriek for in the light of the lamp in the boat she saw she had kicked off Eriks' mask – revealed to her shocked gaze was twisted flesh that surrounded his baleful blue eyes and [no!!] a gaping hole where his nose should be.  
  
She shrieked again and kicked out with her trapped foot. She heard him grunt in pain, the ladder jerked alarmingly and then her foot was free. There was a loud splash but she did not paused to look down. In terror she climbed hastily up the ladder and reaching the hatch saw in puzzlement there was a little spoked iron wheel attached to the hatch. Cautiously she touched it with her right hand and it moved around easily in her hand as if it had been oiled. This must be the way to open the hatch! Grasping it firmly she spun the wheel until she heard a faint click and then she had to duck her head as the hatch swung downward on hinges. A rush of air swept through the dark hole revealed to her – stale, but breathable.  
  
Feeling a bit hysterical she laughed, and awkwardly climbed through into the dark passage above. Leaning back down she managed to grab the hatch lid and gasping, pulled it up – but before she closed it she peered warily at the water below. There was no sign of Erik, only the boat bobbing quietly on the lake. But a little voice in her head whispered that she had not seen the last of her former teacher and shivering, closed the hatch.  
  
There was an identical metal wheel fastened on the other side of the hatch and she frantically turned it around, sealing the lid into place. She collapsed on the floor, sobbing in relief and shivering in the dark. There was still a long way to go. 


	9. A Way Out?

Myao – Thanks again as always for your nice review!  
  
Rachel & Salem – I'm glad you have been finding the last chapters suspenseful and I hope you like this one! Thank you for liking my writing.  
  
Part 9  
  
After a while Christine sniffed and wiped her face with her hand. She was so tired! It would be easy to lie down on the stone floor and fall asleep but she knew if she did so in her wet garments, she would catch a chill that could lead to fever.  
  
Besides, it would make it easier for Erik to catch her – if he was still alive, which she had to assume. He no doubt knew this part of the Opera like the back of his hand and could find her easily…  
  
The air was stale and chilly...she wondered how many levels she had to ascend before she got back to the surface. It seemed aeons since she had seen the sun and felt the wind on her face. Her stomach growled, craving the sweet, addictive tea Erik had given her and an involuntary shudder ran through her body, leaving her shaking. What was wrong with her? What had been in that tea to make her crave it so even now?  
  
Aware she was still dripping wet, with shaking hands she quickly removed her dressing gown and awkwardly wrung it out as best as she could on the floor. Anxious not to waste time she put it back on and paused, wondering which direction to travel in – to go forward or turn and head in the other direction? She mentally shrugged. Surely it could not hurt to walk forward for now and she started trudging carefully along the passage, hoping that she would not bump into anything in the dark.  
  
Usually she would have been scared of the dark, but relief at her narrow escape (so far) from Erik kept her spirits up as she strained her eyes to see where she was going. Her bare feet were cold and ached a bit – what she would not give for a pair of good walking shoes, she thought wistfully. Her braid had fallen from its pins and she pulled it over her shoulder and wrung it out the best she could as she walked along. She kept it over her shoulder, touching it occasionally as she would a talisman to protect her.  
  
She started hearing noises as she walked along, the faint creaking a building did at night, distant clinking sounds from pipes and once, the squeaking of a rat as it scampered past her, making her cry out in fright.  
  
Then she heard a whistling noise and saw a faint light in the distance bobbling along towards her.  
  
She stared at the distant light in tired misery. Surely it could not be Erik. No – for he sneered at whistling and would not have a tuneless whistle if he did so as this person did. She hoped that this person would be friendly…  
  
"Hello?" Christine called out cautiously.  
  
"Who is there?" came the puzzled, gruff reply of a man in the distance. The whistling stopped and the light paused. "Starting to hear things in me old age!" she heard him mutter. "Coulda sworn I heard me a lady down here!"  
  
"It is Christine Daae!" she called desperately and tried to walk faster toward the light but suddenly her legs wobbled and gave way under her. Her knees hit the ground painfully and she cried out in pain.  
  
"Why..it is a lady!" she heard the man say in astonishment and the light grew brighter as it drew closer to her. Then the light defined itself as a lantern being held by an elderly man in patched brown clothes who was carrying a lumpy bag as well. He had a wrinkled face and grizzled grey hair, gaping at the sight of the young black-haired woman shivering in a white dressing gown on the ground, looking like she had been dunked in the lake below.  
  
"What's a young missy like you doing down here?" he said in bewilderment. She stared up at him with appeal on her lovely, fine-boned face.  
  
"My name is Christine Daae" she whispered. "I was held prisoner by the…the Phantom of the Opera!" she added in a faltering voice, nearly breaking on the last words.  
  
His eyes widened in horror. His job as a rat catcher down here sometimes led to the odd encounter with the Phantom – and each time he hoped it would be the last, for there was a cruel soul behind that white mask, he would swear on his sainted mothers grave. And this lovely little missy had been his prisoner? And managed to escape? No doubt that devil was searching for her too…  
  
"Lucky to be alive you are and no mistake, little lady, or my name isn't Rat Catcher Lou!" he muttered kindly to her as he dumped his rat bag on the ground (he would fetch it later) and with that free hand awkwardly helped her to her feet.  
  
"I cannot walk very well, I fear" she muttered apologetically.  
  
"Well then, you just lean on me and I'll get you out of here" Lou said kindly and she gratefully took his elbow. The mismatched pair shuffled along the passage, Christine thankful for this true guardian angel…  
  
"It is a dark day indeed when that masked devil starts to a taking young ladies for sport!" he grumbled.  
  
"You have seen him, have you…ah, Lou?" she said in surprise.  
  
"Aye!" he muttered. "One time he strung me up in a lasso and left me hanging from a hook for hours – not enough to kill, mind you!"  
  
"Oh no!" Christine cried out in horror. "Why would he do such a cruel thing to you?"  
  
Lou grunted. "He said he called the rats 'friends' and said if I wanted a long life I should do the same." He hawked and spat to the side in disdain then looked abashed. "Sorry for that missy, me manners are a crying shame, that they are!"  
  
Christine laughed shakily beside him. "It is all right…"  
  
They arrived at a crossroads in the passage and he turned left. Then when they came to another crossroads a little while later he turned left again and then the passage sloped upwards and then ended in a wooden door. Lou placed the lantern carefully on the ground and fumbled in his pocket for the key, then opened the door that revealed a long corridor that had a row of doors on the right hand side, with rough sconces holding unlit candles on the walls.  
  
"Lou, where are we?" Christine asked in confusion.  
  
He coughed. "This here is the level where them top opera folk store old props and the like. This here first door on the right is my lodgings – and the fourth door down leads to a staircase that will take you up to them upper levels."  
  
Christine gasped in delight. "A way upwards – how will I ever thank you?"  
  
Lou flushed and looked abashed. "No need for thanks – but you need a warm coat, some stew and a rest before you head upstairs, me thinks."  
  
"I cannot stay – he...he will be still looking for me, I know it. I must go!"  
  
"He will have to get past me first!" Lou asserted gruffly and she reluctantly nodded.  
  
"You just head through the door to my room missy, and I will be out here on guard, that I will."  
  
Christine sighed. "I am rather tired – thank you" and watched as he unlocked his door and opened it for her. When she went to go through he stopped her and gave her the key to his door. He stared at her hard.  
  
"Lock the door behind you little missy, and if…something happens to me (if the Phantom caught up with them was left unsaid) there is a trapdoor in the floor – a tunnel will take you to another ladder that will get you up two floors to a store room. A staircase is nearby that will take you to them Opera folk." Lou grunted. "Who ever built this place was nuttier than a good walnut pie, that is all I can say!"  
  
Christine nodded, her face pale. "Thank you for your kindness – I will never forget this" and she went through and closed and locked the door behind her.  
  
Lou sighed and retrieving some whittling equipment from an empty storeroom sat outside his door and set to whittling a piece of wood he was currently working on. His lamp was turned down low and he looked for all the world like an ordinary workman having a break. It did not bother him that it was night – in the depths of the Opera it was always night.  
  
In the depths of the Opera, he searched for his lost prey, his eyes cold. He would find her and then she would pay for this humiliation. 


	10. Ascending...

A/N: Well, this is the last part – a big thanks to those who have been following this story so far (especially Myao smiles ). I admit the story has been a bit subversive (with a cruel Erik who saw Christine only as an object to be controlled) but I had to tell it (though endings are hard to write!).  
  
Part 10  
  
Lou's quarters were simply furnished but to Christine they were as splendid as the finest salon in Paris. There was a simple cot bed with a faded patchwork quilt in a corner and a brown rag rug on the stone floor. A brazier in another corner filled with glowing coals gave the room a dim light and a cosy feeling (though at intervals a whistling breeze blew through a tiny metal grill in the ceiling).  
  
There was a tiny cupboard on one wall that when opened revealed a loaf of bread, half a wheel of cheese and an apple. Her stomach, aware that there was food nearby started rumbling hopefully and after tearing off a hunk of bread and some cheese with trembling hands she sank down on a wobbly three- legged stool.  
  
The bread was a bit stale and the cheese hard in places but she gobbled down her portions in an un-ladylike way. Afterwards, she took off her dressing gown and laid it on the floor near the brazier, not caring if it got dirty. Eyeing a rough grey woollen tunic hanging on a hook over the bed, she took off her nightgown as well and laid it near the dressing gown. In the warmth of this room they would dry quickly and her body was already feeling dryer, for which she was thankful.  
  
Sending a silent apology to Lou for imposing on him like this she took the grey tunic down from its hook and put it on quickly. It was quite large and scratchy against her skin but she was not about to complain. Giving a big yawn she climbed sleepily into the cot and was asleep before her head touched the pillow.  
  
* * * *  
  
Christine woke to a faint noise outside the room, but in her half-sleepy state she discounted it as it was just Lou out there, of course. Surely she was safe from Erik here. Feeling better and smiling sleepily she stretched out her arms, glad to feel warm. Although she was unsure of the current time she felt that enough hours had gone by to refresh her. She would make sure Lou was well repaid for his kindness!  
  
She hoped her clothes had dried for she could see from where she lay that the coals in the brazier were now feeble embers. Pushing the quilt aside Christine got out of the cot and walking to the brazier picking a small iron bar hanging off a hook on it and stirred the coals until they flared into brighter life. Checking her clothes on the floor she saw in relief that they had indeed dried. Christine pulled the dressing gown on over the tunic she was wearing and laid the nightgown on the bed.  
  
She decided to leave the nightgown for Lou – surely he would be able to sell it and fetch a good sum despite the water stains. Her bare feet made little sound as she went to unlock the door but in consternation Christine suddenly heard sounds of a scuffle outside the door and a cry from Lou, abruptly cut off.  
  
Christine put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from crying out as well, for she heard a familiar, hateful voice from behind the door.  
  
"No more rat catching for you for a while, hmm?" she heard the silky voice of Erik say. Then the door handle rattled sharply.  
  
"Christine my dear, I know you are in there."  
  
Her eyes opened wide in terror. Erik had found her – would she ever be free of him? Poor Lou – was he dead? He had been so kind to her…it was not fair!  
  
The door rattled again and his voice was impatient. "It is time for your silliness to end – you went through this door so obviously you must come out through it!"  
  
Christine blinked. He was not all knowing – for he did not know about the trapdoor in here…which was…where? On impulse she knelt on the floor next to the rag rug and pulled it aside. Yes! Underneath was a wooden trapdoor, well oiled by the look of it and with a small iron ring in its centre.  
  
"Christine!" Erik called softly. "I will give you ten seconds and then this door will be no barrier to me!"  
  
[I am one step ahead of you!] Christine thought grimly and grasping the ring pulled up the trapdoor, which rose up smoothly and quietly, revealing a ladder. Without hesitation she climbed down the ladder and shortly found herself in a narrow tunnel (that had an unknown light source for it was dimly lit). Feeling stronger after her sleep (though her legs felt stiff) she ran down the tunnel until it came to a dead end, whereupon she saw there was a ladder attached to a wall that ran up a shaft.  
  
Muttering to herself about how she was fast becoming an expert in climbing ladders, Christine grabbed the rungs and started climbing. In the distance behind her she heard a door crash open. Biting her lip Christine increased her speed as much as she could, pausing when she reached a trap door.  
  
She opened it and scrambled out on to the floor, finding herself in a tiny, empty storeroom. Gasping for breath Christine wished she had something that she could block the trapdoor with, for she could hear footsteps below that were getting louder as they approached her…  
  
Nevertheless she shut the trapdoor to buy a little time (mere though it would be!) and hurried to the door, praying that it would be unlocked. The saints were smiling on her this day she thought for it opened easily and running out into a dimly lit corridor she ran into…Raoul?  
  
"Raoul!" she gasped in relief and joy, clutching his arms.  
  
"Christine?!" he said in shock as he seized her arms in return. Never had she been so glad to see him. Raoul was haggard looking though, his blonde hair dishevelled, his handsome face unshaven while his grey eyes blazed in sunken sockets.  
  
"Christine, where you have been? I have been searching for you everywhere in this blasted place to find where that bastard took you…fearing the worst…." He broke off, his face filled with conflicting emotion.  
  
"He took me to his house on the lake, but I escaped!" Christine panted, not caring that she must surely look like an escapee from an asylum in the tunic, her hair unkempt and her feet bare and dirty. "But he has been chasing me ever since then…oh, Raoul, he is right behind me!"  
  
There was a crash and the couple turned as one to stare into the storeroom to see the Phantom of the Opera standing by the trapdoor, looking like an angel from hell in his evening clothes and cape, his white mask gleaming like bone, his eyes malevolent. Part of Christine's mind wondered if he had dived for his mask or whether he had spares at his house, like some macabre Masquerade collection…  
  
"You have something that belongs to me, Vicomte!" Erik breathed heavily. "I suggest you hand her over before you get…hurt.."  
  
"I am not yours, you heartless monster!" Christine hissed at Erik as she and Raoul slowly backed away.  
  
"Christine, get behind me" Raoul murmured and she did so.  
  
Erik looked exasperated. "I have moulded your voice into that of an Angel – I would have married you and loved you forever!"  
  
"You do not love me!" Christine spat, her face flushed with righteous anger. She wished the Phantom had never heard her sing, for so far her voice had really only brought her misery. "You loved the drugged doll you turned me into!"  
  
"DRUGGED?" Raoul said in a terrible voice.  
  
Erik sighed. "Enough talking, I grow bored of this." He made a motion with his hand and a lasso appeared in it. "Your suffering will be quick and soon over Vicomte, for I am not without mercy."  
  
Suddenly Raoul pushed Christine to the floor and dropped down beside her as a cold feminine voice spoke from behind them. "I have no mercy for you, you devil!"  
  
There was a sound of a gunshot, a gasp, a cry from Christine and when the smoke cleared it revealed the still body of the Phantom on the ground. He was dead.  
  
"He is dead…it is over!" Christine whispered as Raoul helped her to her feet and when she turned around she saw Carlotta standing there with a smoking gun in her hand, a grim smile on her face. "No one calls me Queen of the Swamp and gets away with such insults!" the diva sniffed, looking like a ship in full sail in her black silk dress. Christine could have embraced her.  
  
"People have been searching for you for this past fortnight ever since you vanished!" Carlotta continued. "I declare that if I never come this far down into the Opera again I will be content for all time."  
  
"Thank you!" Christine said sincerely. She had never thought that Carlotta of all people would have bothered to search for her as well…  
  
Carlotta looked uncomfortable. "I owed you anyway for telling that filth to stop tormenting me – I had hated you as a rival and yet you tried to help me."  
  
Relieved that her ordeal was over, a grateful Christine smiled warmly at Carlotta for the first time. "That is all right!"  
  
Carlotta tentatively smiled back. They had been enemies – maybe one day in the future they could be friends.  
  
Christine gazed at both of them, elated that she had survived and shaken at the thought of how close she had come to being recaptured.  
  
"Thank you for looking for me – after I escaped he was always a step behind me." Christine shuddered. She knew that she would be having nightmares for a while…  
  
Raoul's face was grim as he looked at her. "When I think of you Christine, as his drugged prisoner, subject to all kinds of indignities...it is fortunate that he is dead!"  
  
Christine put a hand gently on his arm. "Raoul, he never...did what you are thinking."  
  
His face relaxed slightly. "Thank heavens. Though I want you to know…it would not have changed the feelings I have for you."  
  
"Thank you!" Christine whispered shyly, her heart filling with love for him, and then Raoul smiled and offered her his arm. "Let us go and leave this place to the authorities, my dear."  
  
"I agree!" Carlotta sniffed, well pleased with herself. People would think twice indeed about crossing her in the future, she thought.  
  
However, Christine shook her head determinedly. "I cannot leave until I know if Lou – the rat catcher who gave me shelter – is all right. He was attacked a little while ago by…him…I had to run…I would never forgive myself if he is dead!"  
  
Raoul looked at her intently. "Christine, tell me where to find him and I will see to it."  
  
But Christine shook her head. After the kindness that Lou had shown her, she would not abandon the kindly old man. "No, I will show you myself."  
  
While Carlotta sniffed that she was not going to go down any more trapdoors, thank you, Christine retraced her steps with Raoul along the tunnel, climbing back into Lou's quarters on the ladder she had fled down. To her relief Lou was alive, though unconscious, and after he was revived complained of nothing more than a headache – it appeared that the Phantom had been more concerned with recapturing Christine rather than the elimination of someone who had merely been in his way…  
  
But with the death of the Phantom, a dark era at the Paris Opera had come to an end at last.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Epilogue  
  
After they returned to the world above they were hailed as heroes (Carlotta taking great delight afterwards in reminding people this).  
  
Lou was made Chief Rat Catcher of the Paris Opera with a doubled salary.  
  
Christine went on to become the Opera's premier singer and had a glorious career, living with her husband Raoul in a nearby mansion.  
  
Carlotta decided that her true vocation was writing operas (under a pen name), not singing them, to the relief of all. Surprisingly, she showed writing talent and her work 'The Opera Ghost' gained widespread popularity when it was performed. After M. Firmin's pointed suggestion to M. Andre, part of the profits went towards a new chandelier.  
  
The Phantom's body was put in an unmarked grave, his house eventually found and destroyed.  
  
Apart from her wedding dress, Christine never wore white again.  
  
Afterwards it was said at the Opera that if you went down to the lake at night and listened, you might hear the Phantom of the Opera, in a voice both compelling and mad, calling Christine's name……  
  
  
  
A/N: Hate it? Love it? Let me know with the handy button below but flames will be used for cooking! 


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